THIRTEEN

She opened her eyes slowly, wheezing and trying to draw breath into her lungs.

It was hard; the weight of the tunnel on her back, pressing her to the floor, was close to unbearable.

And then she moved her head up, resting her chin on the floor and blinking.

The tunnel was clear. There was no rubble. There was no twisted, warped, burnt metal to cause injury or danger.

"So what the bloody hell is on –"

She shifted her hands under her, trying to raise herself on one elbow. She half-managed it and twisted her head back to try and see over her shoulder.

"Oi!" she gasped, surprised. The Doctor's hand slipped from the back of her head to the tunnel floor by her other side. She sniffed a few times and then her eyes widened. "Oi! Doctor!" she shouted, shifting and trying to bump his heavy weight off her back. "Oi! Look alive! You're crushing me, you stupid Time Lord!"

She wiggled her shoulders and heaved suddenly.

He slid off her back and his head thumped against the tunnel wall.

"Oh my god! I didn't mean to do that, are you –"

His face creased with annoyance slightly, his eyes still closed. "Just let me doze a few minutes, Romana, jelly babies are in my coat pocket," he murmured.

She just blinked at him, then threw him off her properly and turned in the tunnel, putting her hands to his jacket and shaking him as best she could.

"Doctor! Something smells like yesterday's barbecue and I think it's you!" she shouted in his face.

His eyes popped open and he stared at her from barely two inches away.

"Who's barbecued?" he cried, alarmed. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Doctor," she said, letting go of him and looking up along the tunnel. "How long have we got left to go?"

"A few hundred feet," he said, then scrubbed at his face and then his hair roughly. "Daa! That's better!" he cried. "Well, come on then, ladies first!"

She just looked at him at close range.

"Alright. But no watching my arse, thinking I won't know," she teased. She pushed herself round and onto her hands and knees with a smile.

"Why do you think I want you to go in front? Not that I don't trust you behind me when I'm on my hands and knees, Martha Jones, but I don't," he grinned.

"Git," she breathed, shaking her head and shuffling on down the tunnel.

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He unlocked the door of the TARDIS and pushed it open for her, waiting for her to walk in. He followed her, turning and closing it quietly. He watched her walk slowly up the ramp, peeling off her jacket and throwing it at the high chairs by the Time Rotor.

He ambled up the ramp with all the time in the world, sniffing cheerfully to himself as he undid the buttons on his jacket and slid it off. He turned it round to look at the back panel, finding it singed and smelling rather like acrylic that's been cut too fast with a cheap metalwork saw.

"Typical. If it's not the Chucks, it's the suit," he said ruefully. "Nice to know I have another one, eh?" he sniffed to himself.

"So tell me," she said quietly, turning and looking at him. "What did happen to Malaradarr'jin?"

He took a deep breath, tossing the jacket onto the centre console and letting his hands slide into his pockets.

"Commissioner Barrak'jin was a cruel, evil deviant who killed the poor bugger with a brain scanner," he said shortly. "Not pretty, but there it is."

She watched his face. Impassive.

"And then you killed Barrak'jin," she said gently. He looked up at her, startled.

"Me? Kill Barrak'jin?" he demanded, his voice high-pitched and very, very hurt. "Martha Jones, I'm staggered you could even think I'd do that on purpose!"

He turned and picked up his jacket, slamming his hand against a few switches and dials. He turned to go, then whipped back and rammed up a lever.

The Time Rotor started to rise and the TARDIS moved off.

He turned and stormed off, leaving her with only the Time Rotor for company.

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She sat on the bed, her adopted bed in her adopted room in her adopted home-from-home currently strolling amiably through the Time Vortex.

She felt herself lean forward and put her elbows on her knees, and then her head in her hands.

She thought back over the past few days, the people she had met, the people who had died, the places she had seen and barely escaped alive, the person she had upset…

She sniffed and realised her face was actually wet. She leaned into her hands and let herself sniffle quietly for some minutes.

She jumped and looked over as the door began to swing open with a loud creak.

The Doctor slithered gracefully round the half-open door.

"Right, here we are then. Thought you might –" He stopped abruptly as he looked up at her, surprised by her face as she stared back at him. "Oh," he managed awkwardly. He looked down at the mug of tea he had in each hand, then back over at her. "Um… Biscuit?" he offered humbly, smiling while trying on his best puppy-dog eyes. "I've got Hob-Nobs. With chocolate."

She grinned despite herself. "You can get tablets for that, they'll clear it right up," she said gamely.

He grinned and walked over, sitting down next to her on the bed and then leaning across her as if he owned the place – which he did, Martha realised – and set the two mugs down on her adopted bedside table. He looked at the ceiling bravely, putting an arm round her and pulling her in against him.

She leaned on him gratefully, resting her head on his shoulder and sniffing.

"I'm sorry," she said clearly.

"What for this time? If I find you've not replaced the toilet roll again, I'll –"

"Doctor," she whispered, and he swallowed.

"Yeah," he agreed heavily. "Still, all over now. And at least Palaradarr'jin and a good portion of his friends got away with that lovely shiny ship, eh?" he said, trying to be cheerful.

"I didn't actually believe you'd killed him. Not on purpose. I don't need to know what happened. It doesn't matter. I don't believe you could have killed him."

The Doctor was quiet for a long time, so impossibly long she feared he had forgotten she was there.

"Do you know why I hate it when you cry?" he asked amiably.

"You hate it when I cry?" she asked, sniffing and wiping at her eyes slowly, regaining some composure.

"Because that's when you think you're useless. But you're not," he said quietly, as if to himself. "You just think you are. And then when you're all back to normal again, and you've had a proper, hot cup of tea, and the world's the right side up again, you realise you were being silly." He paused, looking at her. She leaned her head off him to meet his gaze. "Right?"

"Yeah," she allowed.

"See? I was right," he said to himself. "Anyway, I brought you some tea."

"Yeah, I noticed," she said dryly, sniffing and leaning away from him, sitting up. He let his arm drop and instead put his hands to her bed behind him, leaning back on them. "Although, just for once it'd be nice to have coffee on board," she smiled.

"Coffee? Yeeuuukkkk," he spat, hanging his tongue out at the very thought. "No, tea's what you need – just a good cup of tea. A whole load of those old super-heated free radicals and tannin, just the thing for healing the synapses. And I should know," he said cheerfully.

She grinned and wiped at her face again, twisting to look at him.

"Doctor," she said, and he looked at her.

"What?"

"Go get the Hob Nobs. The chocolate ones," she said.

"Righty-ho then," he grinned, bounding up off the bed and out of the room.

She shook her head, grinned, and took a deep breath.

And got up, went to her adopted dressing table, and picked up her bottle of make-up remover with cleanser.

THE END